FIC: Buttons of Diamond, Buttons of Wood
Jan. 15th, 2013 11:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mithenTitle: Buttons of Diamond, Buttons of Wood
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dwalin, Bofur, Gloin, Ori, Dori
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count 1400
Summary: A quiet day in Beorn's hall, in which Thorin finds his company spending their time frivolously.
The lazy buzzing of bees was loud in Thorin Oakenshield's ears as he organized his pack once again. Everything was there--everything but his shield, of course. He swallowed and drew the strings tight.
On Beorn's veranda, Ori and Dori were sitting among the remains of the breakfast dishes and whittling something. Balin and Dwalin were sparring with each other in a field of flowers. Most of the other dwarves were smoking and telling stories. Bofur was playing his clarinet--the tune was unfamiliar. Thorin had been sure he knew all of Bofur's songs. The burglar was lying on his stomach on the smooth wood, watching the huge bees play in and among the flowers. The morning sunlight slanted across and touched the wide golden wood with light, and Thorin felt restlessness grip him like a fever. They should be on the road again, on the way to Erebor, not lazing around a hall eating honey and cream.
"What are you doing?" he snapped at Ori and Dori, who blinked up at him in surprise, as though his voice had broken a pleasant reverie.
"Well, sir," said Dori, "Mr. Baggins, he lost his waistcoat buttons under the Misty Mountains."
"So we're carving him new ones," Ori said, holding up the little piece of wood.
"Give me that," said Thorin, grabbing it out of Ori's hand. It was indeed a button, carved like a leaf out of maple wood. "Buttons!" he growled. "We are preparing to enter the treacherous forests of Mirkwood, full of unknown hazards, and you are carving buttons."
"That reminds me," said Fili, pulling something out of his pocket. "I'm almost done. Well, he lost quite a few," he added at his uncle's look. "Mine will be shaped like a hawk." His voice was proud.
Thorin gritted his teeth. "At least Balin and Dwalin are preparing for the hardships ahead!" he said with a wave at the two warriors.
"Already made mine," grunted Dwalin as he parried a blow. "Shaped like an axe."
Thorin felt his eyes narrow. "So you've all spent the morning carving buttons. Out of wood. Wood! That's no fit material for a dwarf!" He waved his hand to the east. "When we retake Erebor, we shall forge our burglar buttons of solid gold." He nodded and crossed his arms, savoring the image. "Or we shall carve them from jewels, each button a perfect gem. I shall find the finest diamonds and cut the glowing heart from each of them to shape into the most magnificent buttons ever seen."
"I rather liked my brass ones," Bilbo said wistfully. "They were a gift from my Great-Aunt Pansy."
The veranda trembled as Thorin stomped across it toward Bilbo. "Are you saying the diamond buttons of Erebor are not good enough for a hobbit of the Shire?"
Bilbo grimaced. "I'd look a right idiot in the Shire with diamond waistcoat buttons, wouldn't I?"
"Besides which," Gloin added, "He needs the buttons now, and wood is what we've got." He put the final touches on his carving and tossed it to Bilbo, who caught it out of the air. "Made mine like a tankard of dwarvish ale," he chuckled.
"It's lovely," Bilbo said, turning it over in his hand. "Amazing work. Such skill. I had heard of the craft of the dwarves, but I never knew how--well, how much love goes into it."
"We shouldn't be working with wood," snarled Thorin. "We should be working with the riches that are rightfully ours!" He glared around at his company, saw their confused expressions, and wondered why exactly he was so angry. "And what is that racket you're making, Bofur?"
"Oh, it's a song Master Bilbo taught me," Bofur said, taking the clarinet from his lips.
"It's a song for beekeepers," Bilbo added helpfully. "It's supposed to soothe angry bees. I thought it might--"
"Hobbit songs, wooden buttons--are we going to give up everything that makes us dwarves?" Thorin yelled. "We need to hold on to what's ours."
"Well," piped up Kili, "The way I see it, the hobbit is kind of ours now, and he does need buttons."
It was intolerable. Thorin turned and stomped away from the company, seething.
Behind him, Bofur's clarinet began to play the bee-soothing song again, its strange un-dwarvish notes following Thorin as he stormed away.
: : :
Bilbo looked up at the sun and frowned. The shadows were lengthening and Gandalf still hadn't returned to Beorn's hall. No one else seemed too worried about this, but Bilbo felt better when the wizard was around. He bit off a thread and re-threaded the needle Oin had loaned him, squinting thoughtfully at it. He'd moved to the other side of the building because the light was better there now, leaving the rest of the dwarves smoking and singing in the shade. They'd gone back to dwarf-songs, which was perhaps just as well--their voices weren't very suited for hobbit-songs.
A shadow fell across his work, and Thorin sat down next to him with a rattle of chains and a creak of leather. "Here." There was a little piece of wood in his broad hand. A button. "If you need buttons, we shall provide you with buttons."
"Oh. Well." Bilbo looked down at the torn waistcoat in his lap. "Actually, I have enough buttons, I don't need any more."
Then he bit his lip and wished he could call the words back, but Thorin didn't explode or yell or even growl. He just pulled his hand back and looked down at the button.
"But one never knows when one might need a spare!" Bilbo said hastily. "Let me have that and I'll sew it right up top here, to have in reserve for when I do something foolish and lose one of them." There was no buttonhole for the button, but he put the needle through the cloth slightly to the side on the neckline, threading the button onto it.
Then he stopped and looked more closely at the bit of wood. "My goodness," he murmured, "How pretty." It was a wooden copy of a gem in an ornate setting, every detail distinct and realized. "Is this one of your Erebor diamonds?"
Thorin didn't respond for a moment. When he did, his voice was lower and gentler than Bilbo had ever heard it. "That is the Heart of the Mountain. The symbol of the King. That is the Arkenstone."
"Well," Bilbo said. "It's a very pretty thing. Thank you. Thank you very much." He sewed the button to his waistcoat with quick, economical stitches. He was waiting for Thorin to move away, but Thorin seemed to have no inclination to leave. The bees hummed around them and the late-afternoon sunlight was warm and golden.
After a time Bilbo cleared his throat. "For the record," he said apologetically, "I don't think you need have any fear that you and your people are forgetting what makes you dwarves. You all strike me as...well, as very dwarf-like indeed." As soon as he said it he realized that Thorin would be entirely correct in pointing out that Bilbo had never met another dwarf in his life, and he rather wished he hadn't said anything at all.
Thorin said nothing for a time, gazing into the reddening sky. "I suppose that's not really what I'm afraid of," he said slowly.
"What are you really afraid of?"
Thorin seemed about to say something, then closed his mouth and reconsidered. After a while, he made a small rumbling sound deep in his throat--Bilbo realized with some surprise that it was close to a chuckle.
"Well, the dragon is a good start," Thorin said.
"Ha ha, yes," Bilbo said with a weak laugh. "A good start indeed."
Thorin clapped him on the back, a blow that made Bilbo gasp a bit. He was beginning to think Thorin's affection might be more hazardous than his disdain. "Well, there's no need to be afraid with my intrepid burglar on the job, now is there?" Thorin said. And with that, he rose and walked back to the other side of the hall, bellowing at Kili and Fili to stop lounging on the veranda and do some more combat training, and leaving Bilbo to wonder when exactly he had gone from "that" burglar to "our" burglar to "my" burglar.
Bilbo put on his waistcoat and buttoned it, smiling slightly to feel the little carved symbols under his fingers: Fili's hawk, Ori's leaf, Dwalin's axe.
The gem-shaped button at the top he touched lightly, surprised to find that it had ended up resting above his heart.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dwalin, Bofur, Gloin, Ori, Dori
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count 1400
Summary: A quiet day in Beorn's hall, in which Thorin finds his company spending their time frivolously.
The lazy buzzing of bees was loud in Thorin Oakenshield's ears as he organized his pack once again. Everything was there--everything but his shield, of course. He swallowed and drew the strings tight.
On Beorn's veranda, Ori and Dori were sitting among the remains of the breakfast dishes and whittling something. Balin and Dwalin were sparring with each other in a field of flowers. Most of the other dwarves were smoking and telling stories. Bofur was playing his clarinet--the tune was unfamiliar. Thorin had been sure he knew all of Bofur's songs. The burglar was lying on his stomach on the smooth wood, watching the huge bees play in and among the flowers. The morning sunlight slanted across and touched the wide golden wood with light, and Thorin felt restlessness grip him like a fever. They should be on the road again, on the way to Erebor, not lazing around a hall eating honey and cream.
"What are you doing?" he snapped at Ori and Dori, who blinked up at him in surprise, as though his voice had broken a pleasant reverie.
"Well, sir," said Dori, "Mr. Baggins, he lost his waistcoat buttons under the Misty Mountains."
"So we're carving him new ones," Ori said, holding up the little piece of wood.
"Give me that," said Thorin, grabbing it out of Ori's hand. It was indeed a button, carved like a leaf out of maple wood. "Buttons!" he growled. "We are preparing to enter the treacherous forests of Mirkwood, full of unknown hazards, and you are carving buttons."
"That reminds me," said Fili, pulling something out of his pocket. "I'm almost done. Well, he lost quite a few," he added at his uncle's look. "Mine will be shaped like a hawk." His voice was proud.
Thorin gritted his teeth. "At least Balin and Dwalin are preparing for the hardships ahead!" he said with a wave at the two warriors.
"Already made mine," grunted Dwalin as he parried a blow. "Shaped like an axe."
Thorin felt his eyes narrow. "So you've all spent the morning carving buttons. Out of wood. Wood! That's no fit material for a dwarf!" He waved his hand to the east. "When we retake Erebor, we shall forge our burglar buttons of solid gold." He nodded and crossed his arms, savoring the image. "Or we shall carve them from jewels, each button a perfect gem. I shall find the finest diamonds and cut the glowing heart from each of them to shape into the most magnificent buttons ever seen."
"I rather liked my brass ones," Bilbo said wistfully. "They were a gift from my Great-Aunt Pansy."
The veranda trembled as Thorin stomped across it toward Bilbo. "Are you saying the diamond buttons of Erebor are not good enough for a hobbit of the Shire?"
Bilbo grimaced. "I'd look a right idiot in the Shire with diamond waistcoat buttons, wouldn't I?"
"Besides which," Gloin added, "He needs the buttons now, and wood is what we've got." He put the final touches on his carving and tossed it to Bilbo, who caught it out of the air. "Made mine like a tankard of dwarvish ale," he chuckled.
"It's lovely," Bilbo said, turning it over in his hand. "Amazing work. Such skill. I had heard of the craft of the dwarves, but I never knew how--well, how much love goes into it."
"We shouldn't be working with wood," snarled Thorin. "We should be working with the riches that are rightfully ours!" He glared around at his company, saw their confused expressions, and wondered why exactly he was so angry. "And what is that racket you're making, Bofur?"
"Oh, it's a song Master Bilbo taught me," Bofur said, taking the clarinet from his lips.
"It's a song for beekeepers," Bilbo added helpfully. "It's supposed to soothe angry bees. I thought it might--"
"Hobbit songs, wooden buttons--are we going to give up everything that makes us dwarves?" Thorin yelled. "We need to hold on to what's ours."
"Well," piped up Kili, "The way I see it, the hobbit is kind of ours now, and he does need buttons."
It was intolerable. Thorin turned and stomped away from the company, seething.
Behind him, Bofur's clarinet began to play the bee-soothing song again, its strange un-dwarvish notes following Thorin as he stormed away.
: : :
Bilbo looked up at the sun and frowned. The shadows were lengthening and Gandalf still hadn't returned to Beorn's hall. No one else seemed too worried about this, but Bilbo felt better when the wizard was around. He bit off a thread and re-threaded the needle Oin had loaned him, squinting thoughtfully at it. He'd moved to the other side of the building because the light was better there now, leaving the rest of the dwarves smoking and singing in the shade. They'd gone back to dwarf-songs, which was perhaps just as well--their voices weren't very suited for hobbit-songs.
A shadow fell across his work, and Thorin sat down next to him with a rattle of chains and a creak of leather. "Here." There was a little piece of wood in his broad hand. A button. "If you need buttons, we shall provide you with buttons."
"Oh. Well." Bilbo looked down at the torn waistcoat in his lap. "Actually, I have enough buttons, I don't need any more."
Then he bit his lip and wished he could call the words back, but Thorin didn't explode or yell or even growl. He just pulled his hand back and looked down at the button.
"But one never knows when one might need a spare!" Bilbo said hastily. "Let me have that and I'll sew it right up top here, to have in reserve for when I do something foolish and lose one of them." There was no buttonhole for the button, but he put the needle through the cloth slightly to the side on the neckline, threading the button onto it.
Then he stopped and looked more closely at the bit of wood. "My goodness," he murmured, "How pretty." It was a wooden copy of a gem in an ornate setting, every detail distinct and realized. "Is this one of your Erebor diamonds?"
Thorin didn't respond for a moment. When he did, his voice was lower and gentler than Bilbo had ever heard it. "That is the Heart of the Mountain. The symbol of the King. That is the Arkenstone."
"Well," Bilbo said. "It's a very pretty thing. Thank you. Thank you very much." He sewed the button to his waistcoat with quick, economical stitches. He was waiting for Thorin to move away, but Thorin seemed to have no inclination to leave. The bees hummed around them and the late-afternoon sunlight was warm and golden.
After a time Bilbo cleared his throat. "For the record," he said apologetically, "I don't think you need have any fear that you and your people are forgetting what makes you dwarves. You all strike me as...well, as very dwarf-like indeed." As soon as he said it he realized that Thorin would be entirely correct in pointing out that Bilbo had never met another dwarf in his life, and he rather wished he hadn't said anything at all.
Thorin said nothing for a time, gazing into the reddening sky. "I suppose that's not really what I'm afraid of," he said slowly.
"What are you really afraid of?"
Thorin seemed about to say something, then closed his mouth and reconsidered. After a while, he made a small rumbling sound deep in his throat--Bilbo realized with some surprise that it was close to a chuckle.
"Well, the dragon is a good start," Thorin said.
"Ha ha, yes," Bilbo said with a weak laugh. "A good start indeed."
Thorin clapped him on the back, a blow that made Bilbo gasp a bit. He was beginning to think Thorin's affection might be more hazardous than his disdain. "Well, there's no need to be afraid with my intrepid burglar on the job, now is there?" Thorin said. And with that, he rose and walked back to the other side of the hall, bellowing at Kili and Fili to stop lounging on the veranda and do some more combat training, and leaving Bilbo to wonder when exactly he had gone from "that" burglar to "our" burglar to "my" burglar.
Bilbo put on his waistcoat and buttoned it, smiling slightly to feel the little carved symbols under his fingers: Fili's hawk, Ori's leaf, Dwalin's axe.
The gem-shaped button at the top he touched lightly, surprised to find that it had ended up resting above his heart.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-16 05:56 am (UTC)And wouldn't any of us love to have such a collection of buttons, even in wood :D
Love Thorin/Bilbo - so completely opposite! Such a melancholy wistfulness about them, somehow.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-16 02:13 pm (UTC)And Thorin and Bilbo are SO much fun to write, because they jar off each other in the best of ways. Lovely culture and personality clashes galore! Glad you enjoyed!